


doubt

by Svynakee



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: All hurt no comfort, Angst, Gen, Link finally caves to the pressure of being the chosen hero, Oneshot, Sort Of, emotional breakdown, talkative link
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-10 23:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12922887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Svynakee/pseuds/Svynakee
Summary: A monumental task seems all the more hopeless with the knowledge that one's first attempt ended in failure. A moment of weakness, just one challenge too many, leads the last Champion of Hyrule to doubt himself.





	doubt

**Author's Note:**

> The fic will make more sense if you read Zelda's diary, saw the Champion's cutscenes and also some of the memories. 
> 
> i just wanted to explore some angst ya know like what if this boi got angst and also i _frustrate_ at some of the shrines (im not naming names MOTION CONTROL SHRINES not naming names)
> 
> *low hearts noises*

His hands burned.

They burned with a deep, aching pain. It was as if every bone was not just broken but being actively crushed while his nerves struck searing paths from his fingertips to his shoulders. Even as he inspected his skin for signs of injury – there were none – they trembled from the sheer agony of it.

The sword had been so cold, so heavy.

The forest around him was silent; there was no life here, close to the enchanted mist and deadly woods. The only sound was his own ragged breathing. There was no one to watch. Even the crows had left.

Link leaned back against one of the trees, too exhausted to care whether it had a mouth.

_Weakened in body and spirit._

The shadows were deep here, and night was falling. The sweat that soaked his clothes caused him to shiver with every chilly breeze that ghosted through the trees. His face itched where it stuck his hair to his skin.

He must look such a mess. His initial mad blunder through the mist had left streaks of dirt on his clothes. Twigs had snagged at his tunic and left scratches on his face. And weeks – or had it been months already? – weeks of travelling through the wilderness had made his cheeks lean and his skin darkened by the sun and his hair a shaggy mop. A far cry, he assumed, from the man who used to be the Princess’ chosen knight.

But there was no one here to see.

No one here to see him remove the suddenly constricting pieces of his armour, their familiar weight now too heavy to bear. Spear and bow and shield and quiver, normally treated with such care, fell to the ground in a series of thuds. Even the belt seemed too tight. It wound around his stomach and cut into his waist and the buckle seemed to slip from his grasp as he fumbled with it but then that too was discarded onto the grass.

In the darkness, the Sheikah Slate burned. Its blue eye pierced him accusingly. How dare he abandon such a sacred object? How dare he allow his weakness to get in the way of his duty?

Snarling, Link flipped the thing over so that its judging gaze as aimed at the dirt.

Not that it hadn’t been staring at dirt before.

Slowly, without any permission from his mind, his knees buckled. He hit the ground heavily. The impact sent a jolt through his body, causing old bruises and sores to protest. Usually, he’d grit his teeth and ignore them, with only a grunt of pain at most.

_You will surely perish._

But he was alone, wasn’t he? Who could see? Who could remember?

Certain in the knowledge that he was alone, he let himself cry out.

The forest swallowed his voice. Overhead the sky darkened, the purple of twilight giving way to the deep blue of night. He should move. He should find shelter, or head back down to the stable. No, not like this, he couldn’t go crawling back like this, the last thing he could bear right now was the weight of questioning glances, of causing people to _worry._ He should make a fire. He should change into dry clothes and put his handguards back on and he should have been able to draw the Master Sword-

But it hadn’t moved an inch and now Link found that he lacked the strength to move even his own limbs. It seemed like such an enormous burden, the weight of living.

Or maybe that was the weight of his soul, which had lived through countless ages. Did souls become tattered like old rags? Could it be that the fragment of the ancient hero within him was just a weak, wispy thing, smothered by his own mortal spirit?

_Could it be that you are unworthy?_

How had they known that he was the prophesised hero? Had there been a search, a list of characteristics, an omen to guide them?

His memories remained a void, as silent as the forest around him, as lonely as the night, dark and cold and suffocating like the bottom of an immeasurably deep lake. But not entirely lightless. Here and there were brief recollections, confusing pieces of information, broken windows through which to view his past.

_I mean, it’s just… asinine._

_You were just a reckless child, always getting yourself hurt at every turn._

_That’s a really big deal! No pressure._

_It makes her feel like a failure._

_…when she sees you carrying that sword on your back._

How had he come by the sword in the first place?

Had he found it, like he had now?

Drawn it from its stone?

_Or maybe they gave it to you. Maybe you never had the strength. Maybe you were never worthy. And they gave it to you, and you pretended to be the hero and then when the moment of truth came-_

Link looked up. The tree pressing against his back was a gnarled old thing. It loomed over him, casting him in shadow. The world was so big. So big, so empty.

 _It wasn’t always like this_.

There were always ruins. Empty husks of buildings, rubble that had once formed a wall, rotting beams. Sometimes entire towns. Sometimes just a single cottage, tucked away in its own peaceful corner of the kingdom and yet not spared by the Calamity.

 _This is your fault_.

A hundred years ago, Princess Zelda had appointed him as her knight and protector.

A hundred years ago, everyone had expected him to strike down Calamity Ganon with the legendary blade.

A hundred years ago, the princess with the soul of the Goddess had sacrificed herself to contain a great evil.

Now, here he was, empty-handed.

The stars peeked through the branches like so many watching eyes, blinking curiously down at him. They shone like the shrines hidden throughout the land – on the top of freezing mountains, within mazes of thorns, beyond raging rivers. And within those shrines, the trials.

_The sword stands as a test…_

Trials of combat. Trials of cunning. Trials of speed and skill.

Complete four, and he would be granted the permission to strengthen his spirit.

_You have been weakened…_

The despair, the fear, the pure bottomless tiredness and loneliness and raw visceral _pain_ built up in a torrent that tasted like bile and felt like fire and he _screamed._

Trials and tests and measures, a joke, it was all a farce, wasn’t it?

There wasn’t any need to test him.

He’d already failed.

A hundred years ago he’d tried and failed and now he was weaker than ever.

"Why the trials?” he shouted at the stars. They didn’t answer but kept watching, cold and distant in the sky. “If you doubt me, why did you choose me? Why _me?_ ”

The tears came then. The sobs wracked his body, his back hitting the tree with every shudder. He buried his face in his hands, heedless of the throb of pain in his palms. His knees did little to muffle his cries but that didn’t matter because now there was no one to see, no one to see, because they’d all died and _wasn’t this what you wanted._

“Why…”

His memories were gone. Perhaps he’d asked to forget. But his hands still knew how to wield a sword – _or did I always know, did I ever learn or was it branded into my soul?_ – and how to ride a horse and how to shoot a bow because the body remembers.

_Does anyone else in Hyrule know how it feels to die?_

“…why…”

_You can’t be the hero… you don’t have the legendary sword… the sword that seals the darkness…_

The soul of the Hero…

The Champion of the princess…

The chosen of the Goddess…

_You can’t be the hero…_

The stars were blurred now. The heavens shook each time his body sucked in another choked breath. The sound of his own broken whimpers filled his ears.

And there was nobody watching. Nobody listening. 

Link heaved in another painful lungful of cold air and asked the silent heavens

 

 

 

 

 

 

“ _…why won’t you help me_?”

**Author's Note:**

> Zelda: Geez Link, what have I been doing all this time you spoiled brat? Ganon isn't getting any weaker here!
> 
> (he gets better and eventually does get the Sword)


End file.
